Here I Am
by xlawa
Summary: Nellie could melt him, would melt him, was melting him in this unrequited embrace. Please melt. Please. --A Collection of One-Shots-- UPDATED. PART SIX: REMEMBER
1. Broken

**Setting: After Lucy's death, but Mrs. Lovett and Sweeney are still living. Late in the night.**

**Summary: Sweeney breaks down, Nellie's always there to soothe. Drabblish.**

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**Part I: Broken**

Sweeney Todd stood, shaking, covering his face, eyes stinging. He stood so broken, so separate from the world, and absolutely alone. He fell to his knees, hardly hearing the wooden floors creak at his touch, hardly feeling the sharp pain of wood scratching against flesh. He hardly felt. And yet, he felt too much. Shaking, always shaking now, seething.

He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. Oh god, how those words wouldn't leave his head. A strangled noise escaped his throat and he stood, hunched, kneeling, crying. So much he did for his beautiful Lucy. How much he would of given away for just one last brush of her lips, one touch of her hand. Sweeney could see himself, already, holding Lucy's face in his hands, and seeing her smile, that smile that brought the dimples into her cheeks, that smile that made him soar.

He killed her. He killed her. He killed her smile. But Sweeney would hardly accept any of the violent obvious.

He shot up from his kneeling position, opened his eyes, and stalked loudly to the cracked mirror placed mockingly at the side of the room. He gripped it, sobbing, and threw it across the room, seeing it shatter even more on the dirtied floor of his tonsorial parlor.

"Lucy, Lucy, Lucy..." he grabbed the vase of gilly flowers and threw this even farther than the mirror. Sweeney grabbed at his hair, black eyes wild, and turned, jerking in every other direction. He stopped abruptly in the center of the room.

And he yelled. It was a slaughtering yell, deep, and he drowned in it. It lasted centuries, this yell, and it wakened the heavens. No, not the heavens. It wakened Hell.

He fell to his knees again in the pile of shattered glass, many pieces pricking his legs and soon his arms as he slowly placed his forehead onto the floor. His shoulders shook with the moaning cries of anguish and grief that had taken over every bit of him.

Sweeney Todd blinked.

He sat, now, on an armchair, upright, and warm. He was warm. Ironically, he almost shivered at the thought of warmth, but he took it eagerly. The broken demon clung to this warmth, emotionally, perhaps, and yet, something was too real beside him.

His eyes flicked downward and he saw curls of crimson, he smelt lilacs, fresh lilacs. He felt warmth. Incoherent and aching, he hugged this now physical warmth. The warmth hugged back.

Nellie could hardly suppress a sob of her own as she buried her face deeper into her Sweeney's chest, never wanting to let go. She was strong, she supposed, having watched the barber's tantrum with idle determination, only faltering once as the man passed out on the ruined floor.

She had helped him, lifted him, pampered him, hardly even breathing as she stripped him of his clothes to tend to bleeding gashes from glass. Her heart pounded something like a hummingbird in her chest, wanting to pass out herself.

Sweeney smelt of cinnamon, and it was dashing. And he was chilly. Nellie could melt him, would melt him, was melting him in this unrequited embrace. Please melt. Please.

The barber held her tightly, ever so suddenly, grasping at her as if she weren't there at all. As if Nellie were the wind and would slip between his fingers. Nellie nodded into his chest, and she felt the man relax slowly.

Sweeney wasn't with himself, nor never would be with himself, oddly. The rage from the man's chest had vanished, maybe momentarily, but one fact remained: Sweeney was rage, and now the rage was no more.

This man, now, whoever, felt tears come to his eyes again, and he clung to this unidentified warmth, breathing in, breathing out. His eyes were shut tight, he realized, seeing nothing but maybe a faint wisp of dignity.

He finally felt exhausted and yet so awake, and the warmth was being to move in his grasp. He whimpered, pulling it closer, but he only felt the sensation rise.

Nellie slowly pressed her lips to his collar bone, her eyes closed, not breathing. Her kisses trailed slowly toward his neck, unwillingly, gently, tenderly. In her hands she tightly gripped his shirt in her small fists, tilting her head back to kiss the edge of his jaw bone, the space below his ear. Please melt, please melt.

Sweeney definitely drifted off somewhere, definitely, and this man let out a shaky breath, nodding, accepting. Nellie felt her throat tighten with hope and she wanted so badly to cry, to sniff, to thank. Instead, the man beside him lightly placed his hands onto her face, his fingers grazing her lips, her cheeks, her nose. So lightly, Nellie could feel his breath more than his delicate fingers.

This man opened his eyes now and Nellie's were shut. The woman let out a small sigh, calmly, so in love.

They kissed. They touched lips to lips, lips to fingers, lips to hair. Fluttering brushes of their mouths against each other, living in the moment, neither one of them knowing if dreaming was possible when bliss had enveloped them with gentle arms.

Nellie knew to use this moment, these precious little moments, to the fullest. These aching moments when her barber would melt, and they were united, seeing only eyelashes, dimples, curves. Only smelling lilacs and cinnamon. Only hearing whispers, heartbeats, intakes of breath. Only having each other.

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**A/N: I don't know why I wrote this, honestly, but I was feeling rather emotional and exhausted, a lovely combination for me, and felt as if I should take it to my advantage and write something. So I just..began writing. And this was born. So, I guess this was for me, but I hoped you all enjoyed it. It took about twenty minutes to write, and I don't feel like editing any of it except for spelling. **

**On account of all the lovely feedback I received, I've decided to make this into a series of one shots. That being said, I invite you to read onward, and I do hope you enjoy the ride. **


	2. Yours

**Setting: Before the death of Turpin, in Mrs. Lovett's parlor. Evening. **

**Summary: Still dripping from the bath, Sweeney rushes to Nellie, finally realizing. **

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**Part II: Yours**

It's like he's mesmerized by her skin, as if it wasn't there before, as if the paleness brushing his fingers are some sacred form of life, of being alive. So he continues to stand before her, in the corner of the parlor, watching as her frail body quivers under his pierce of a stare, under the tips of his rough fingers that are barely even touching her jawline.

Her breaths come out in broken sections of lust and attention, hardly even coming out at all, her skin almost hot against him. Her hands hang lightly at her sides, and she wants to bring herself to grasp the air or the wall behind her, so she wouldn't fall, despite being up against her wallpaper.

"Why now?" she whispers, daring herself to let her eyes fall upon the robed man in front of her, her gaze having been concentrating on her mahogany floor. Their faces are so close, the closest they've ever been in quite some time, and her face flushes. She could almost feel his mind cranking, knowing he's sorting something out, hot breath kissing her cheeks with each heavy sigh escaping his lips.

"I have never before," he begins, his voice merely a wisp of sound, so soft, and he trails away, reaching forward to place finger on her lips, hesitantly, afraid she might shatter from looking so cruelly fragile. His black locks of hair dripping from his previous bath, seeming more thin and sticking to the sides of his weary face, water forming on the tips of them and collecting into droplets, creating low thunking moans as they fall onto the wood.

Time has slowed down, they're both sure of it, and Nellie's head spins as he places a damp hand on her left cheek, nudging her nose with his, and she's able to count the number of remorseful speckles in his crudely dark eyes, how they're edging with concentration, shining in their trance-like state.

Trembling, she places her tiny hand on his muscular chest, their skin separated by the silk of the black robe that was clinging to his hardened form.

With an alarming force, the barber's lips crash onto hers, as if he would lose her being if he didn't touch her. She lets out the smallest of noises, rejoicing, the man melting her this time, wondering if this lusting passion was reality. Nellie's afraid to move under his grasp, lips never parting, two of his fingers landing atop her right shoulder before tracing her skin downward.

She's crying, only realizing as he tastes a tear between his pale lips. Something powerful hammers in his chest, those two fingers spreading into his full hand with contact, pressing his palm firmly on her lower back. The hand that still remains on her cheek moves in a caress, his thumb stretching to tenderly, gingerly wipe away the tears, but her face is not wet.

He pulls away, lips slowly pulling apart, she whimpers in protest, and he looks at her pale face closely. Her strong jaw, how it reflects how stable she can keep herself, how it shapes the passion in her face. Those brown eyes, they draw him further, swirling with want and devotion, golden sparks of life and light scattered around, how cheerful, how loyal. Her nose, how it curves elegantly, how very small, her high cheeks that have breaths of pink gracing her wistful features, contrasting with skin like snow.

It was he who was crying, out of wonder, out of his earlier ignorance, and he sees a twitch of the corner of her lips, her deep, entrancing lips, how it turns upward with the most delightful ease. Keeping one hand on the middle of his chest, Nellie reached out with the other, grazing her thumb over his lips and to the side, in small circles, soothing away the tears from his face.

They lock gazes, firm gazes, gazes full of history and finality, and the broken barber pulls her very close, their bodies touching, warmth filling the curves and crevices with their embrace, their face inches apart once more, tears coming to her eyes as well.

"Nellie," he murmured, the one word making her soar, tears falling freely from her face, down her cheeks, to her neck. She buried her hands in his hair and nodded faintly, needing him, words of emotion falling from her lips.

"I am yours."

Lips crashed again, passionately, hands moving freely now, hair askew, skin stinging with heat. And she was his.

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**A/N: This is dedicated to the lovely _zenstereo_, as I was inspired to write this after finishing her fic, The History of the World, an outstanding piece. **


	3. Tea

**Setting: Morning. Spring, perhaps. Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pie Emporium. Before the death of Turpin.**

**Summary: Nellie sets aside some time to have a little chat with Mr. Todd. **

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**Part III: Tea**

"Well," she breathed, rubbing the corners of her eyes with small fingers, frazzled, hastily shifting in the squeaky booth of the pie shop. "I wasn't quite expectin' ya to listen ta me, so..." she trailed off once more, something she had done four times now, and it made him clear his throat, irritated with her as they sat across from each other in the empty room.

"Do hurry it along, Mrs. Lovett, I have things to attend to," his voice was a deep scowl, hoarse from lack of speaking, yet etched with a practiced finality. He flexed his hands in his lap, precise fingers drumming dully on his trousers.

"Ya see," she began again, desperately grasping the tea cup in front of her, thumbing over the little chip on the golden rim, her brow lowering in disapproval. "I've been thinkin' about you, lately. And rightfully so--you'd surely die in the next hour if I wasn't thinkin' of ya, what with you glued to the bleedin' window like it was your second half." She huffed at this, gazing up at him momentarily, a discontented flicker in her eye. "I don't see what's so special about it, either," those lips turning downward, "there's plenty o' windows down 'ere, surely you could watch for 'im without being shut away from me."

He snorted, shaking his head as he set his eyes on her, preparing himself for what he assumed would be a long morning. "Yes, because my bloodied appearance wouldn't arise any suspicions." He then raised both eyebrows and leaned forward, placing his hands on the edge of the table. "It's settled then," he pronounced slowly, "I will move my chair down here. A little bloodshed never hurt anyone."

"Oh hush!" she shot at him lowly, smoothing out her dark skirts, lips pursed in distaste.

He shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest before slouching in his seat. "Alright," he drawled.

Despite the fact that he would probably take another handful of lives before the day ended, a breath of pink had settled on Nellie's cheeks and she looked down, shyly, into her peppermint tea. That mischevious glint of his eye always made her succumb in him in a coquettish manner.

"You know precisely what I mean," she told him, hushed, and she picked up her spoon, dipping it in the steaming liquid. Swirling it around, she let out a little sigh. "I don't see you anymore."

Tipping his head back, he suppressed a groan, closing his eyes, annoyed by the tinkling of her spoon as she stirred. "I shouldn't have agreed to talk to this woman," he whispered to himself, and said woman kicked him smartly in the ankle. He frowned.

"I'm serious," she insisted, really she was, the mess of curls framing her face making her look even more flustered. Nellie shot a stern glance at his indifference. "How could you possibly sit in silence for so long? That must be so..._dreary_, love. Especially with business being slow lately. Wouldn't you enjoy a pinch of company?" Her voice was soft with hope.

"No."

Nellie stopped stirring and made a noise of frustration. "Oh, you're so bloody stubborn," she mumbled hotly, placing her spoon on the saucer, brushing away one of her wild curls. "I wish you'd take a moment and realize all you're pushin' away from yeself." Little did he know of all the secret, heart-felt implication that she placed beneath those words.

"Vermin?" he questioned blandly, placing his hands behind his head, his eyes still closed.

"No," she snapped back, lightly amused, waiting for him to ask further. Yet, part of her expected no response, and she watched the yawn escape his lips. Those kissable lips. Heart fluttering, she placed her elbow on the table top and rested her cheek in her palm. Trying to hint him on like this was useless; he'd never learn to accept all the love and affection she fed to him.

So instead, she took this rare, quiet, morning alone with Mr. Todd and used it in her advantage, soaking up his presence. A long silence passed, a comfortable one, though, peaceful almost, the room filled with nothing but steady breathing and chirping birds from outside.

Fiddling with the thread on the edge of the table cloth, Nellie chuckled suddenly, smiling down at the lacy fabric. "I remember when I was a tiny thing, I hated sitting still. Always wanted to move about, energetic younger, I was. Would of hated this," she paused, giving him a small, funny look. "What were you like, Mr. T? As a kid."

He made a face and shifted a little. "Young."

She snorted this time. "Yes, I assumed so, but what were ya _like_? What kinda person were you?" She stared expectantly, truly curious.

Sweeney opened his eyes, studying the ceiling, frowning at faint blood stains that had soaked a little through the wood. He heaved a sigh, and after an edgy moment, he spoke:

"Quiet...polite. Innocent." He drifted his gaze over to Nellie who was gawking dreamily with those brown eyes of hers. "Foolish."

She leaned further into her palm. "Foolish?"

"Gullible," he corrected in a mumble, closing his eyes again. "I was mousy, bookish. My friends often took advantage of me."

Nellie's eyes flashed sympathetically and she traced a dainty finger around the rim of her cup. "Doesn't sound like they were friends at all, ta me," she offered gently, and he grunted, agreeing. She hesitated a moment before speaking again, very softly. "Am I your friend, Mr. Todd?"

Her question took a moment to settle into Sweeney's head, but when it did, he let out a long breath. "What would you classify as a friend, pet?"

Bashful now, she averted her gaze once more to her tea. Deciding to take this casually, she leaned off her palm to pick up the cup, raising her eyebrows and bringing it to her lips.

"Someone loyal, kind, understanding." She sipped at the tea, quietly, like a proper lady, before continuing. "Someone who shows you respect."

Face voice of expression, Sweeney looked at her, watching her smile that smile. Disgruntled and irked by her amusement, he mumbled a half-hearted, "I suppose..."

Her eyes lit up. Immediately regretting his words, he promptly stood up and strode to the kitchen area beside them. Running a hand through his black hair, he kept his mouth shut.

Delighted with her progress, Nellie giggled. "You suppose...?" she pressed further, unable to wipe the now cheeky smile from her face.

Rolling his eyes, he turned away from her, reaching up to the cupboard to pull out a porcelain cup of his own. "That's what I said," he replied quickly, growling again, but he seemed to be forcing the firm tone.

Placing her tea cup in the saucer with a satisfied _clink_, Nellie gave a happy sigh, content indeed.

Being able to feel the mirth radiating off the baker, he grunted disapprovingly, turning with this head bowed to the kettle on the stove. He slowly picked up the tin container and poured the dark liquid, the silence drowning them again, and Sweeney was glad that she had dropped the subject.

About to relax again, he placed the kettle down and leaned back on the wall behind him. He reluctantly found himself staring out of the front window, subconsciously taking Nellie's earlier suggestion, and sipped at his tea.

A soft, girlish titter brought him from his bleak thoughts, and he groaned, glaring daggers at her. "What _now_?"

Lifting herself elegantly from the booth, something he supposed she had practiced, pathetically enough, Nellie slowly walked over to him, smirking. Exasperated, he ignored her, looking back to the window.

Stopping merely inches away from him, she boldly reached out and placed a warm hand under his chin, turning his face to her.

Sweeney tentatively locked eyes with her, frowning still, unamused. He opened his mouth in protest but nothing came out, her lips being pressed tenderly to his cheek for a good moment, soft lips.

She pulled away and squeezed his bicep gently. "Thank you."

With that, Nellie retreated down to the bakehouse to make the day's pies, leaving him alone in the kitchen, very still, face pink.

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**A/N: This is a fine example of me, spouting out words, trying to place meaning into them, trying to sharpen my dialogue skills. It's like, I'll start off writing a sentence and will just imagine what the character would say in response. I hope you enjoyed it :) Please review!**

**PS:I'm taking requests for one-shots! Do check out my profile for further details :)**


	4. Urge

**Setting: Late in the night. Upstairs, in Mr. Todd's Tonsorial Parlor.**

**Summary: "Our passion play has now, at last, begun.." Nellie and Sweeney unite in a passionate battle of blood-lust and seduction. Who will be the first to succumb?**

**A take on the song 'Point of No Return' from The Phantom of the Opera. I do not own any of the dialogue in this one-shot; Full credit goes to Andrew Lloyd Webber.**

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**Part IV: Urge**

She stood, unmoving, swathed in ivory dresses, the thin layers of white fabric blending with milky skin. The pearly cloth drooped softly off her shoulders, her bodice warmly hugging her middle, billowing skirts rippling downward to skim the wooden floors. The beam of the moon only enhanced her glowing presence as she gazed through the dusty glass of the window. Deceitful brown eyes studied the London night, entrancing curls of deep crimson falling onto bare shoulders.

Around her neck hung a delicate golden chain which held a finely crafted ruby, the red gem resting in between the swells of her bosom. All was silent with the exception of her steady breathing, peaceful intakes of breath. And so she stood, unmoving, hands hanging lightly by her hips, chest and jewel rising and falling on account of her constricting bodice.

The sensible baker was faced away from the man in the doorway, he who was ceasing to emerge from the portentous dark of the parlor. He stood, black eyes glinting in the moonlight, the rest of himself remaining enveloped in the darkness. The normally sullen, moody barber was offering the woman's silhouette a small smile, pleased with her choice of attire.

He, too, had dressed nicely for the occasion; it was only proper for tonight. Replacing his usual grey vest was a clean, black waistcoat, clashing sharply with the pressed white shirt that he wore underneath. His hair was combed back but unruly nonetheless, his black tresses wild, the streak of white almost visible in the shadows. Around his neck, of course, was his crimson necktie.

Blackness melting away, his vision adjusted, slants and curves darkening, hues becoming less mysterious.

Very slowly, his gaze not leaving the woman, the pale barber pushed his shoulders back in confidence and grasped the door knob, closing the tonsorial door with a sly creak. The woman visibly tensed as the tinkle of the entrance bell echoed throughout the room, and the shady man let out a shallow breath, the low click of the lock following the cheery jingle. Preparing himself, Sweeney Todd smirked, hushing any nerves from his body.

_Go away...for the trap, it is set and waits for its prey._

Taking one step towards her, the man licked his lips.

"You have come here in pursuit of your deepest urge." His voice was dangerously low, and the woman shivered, almost able to feel his eyes scan the back of her body. Yet, she did not turn to face him.

He took a few more steps, cautious and silent, and oh so smug, until he was only a foot away from Nellie Lovett. How tempting this woman was already, simply standing in front of him, anticipating attention from her adored tenant. Startled by how radiant and pure the baker seemed, almost as pure as his beloved Lucy, he raised his hands and let them linger above her shoulders, not touching her just yet, wanting to watch her squirm.

"In pursuit of that wish which till now, has been silent..." With a few nimble fingers, he brushed away some of the curls on her shoulder, placing his mouth close to her ear. Hot breath hitting her now exposed neck, his voice was a whisper. "_Silent_."

His captive shuddered violently, chest heaving, eyes fluttering, and he grinned a sinister grin, loving it.

The predominant barber placed his hands softly, carefully onto her shoulders, his large hands just barely touching her. Nellie almost jolted again, his touch drawing in her craving adoration, amplifying her desire. He continued to snarl lowly into her ear, poignant now, loudly now:

"I have brought you, that our passions may fuse and merge..." His left hand trailed down and was pressed firmly onto the ruby, just above her heaving bosom. She writhed under this new contact, and he stepped even closer, snugly placing his chest up against her back, which was also exposed, the corset cut low.

Teasingly, he kissed the smooth skin beneath her ear, his other hand sliding down her right arm until their hands met. Lacing their fingers together, Nellie's head tipped backward, exhaling, and he pulsated with a wolfish lust, growling again.

"In your mind you've already succumbed to me, dropped all defenses..." The demon paused, moving her hand backward to graze the hostler on his belt. She almost moaned as he shifted her fingers to grasp his silver friend, as it was the first time she had ever touched his beloved razors.

Making her pull the blade from its bindings, his lip curled upward in amusement, "...completely succumbed to me."

The woman was willing herself to stay on her feet, her face flushed, fighting the intense urge to quiver even harder. Her pulse had rocketed with his touch, his now sensual touch, and as they were illuminated by the hazy beams of the moon, it took all of her strength not to give in to him. She would show him that she was passionate-that she, too, was as puissant as Sweeney Todd himself.

Even yet, her chin was tilted up towards the heavens, elated, yearning, the silver burning in her palm. His left hand was now trailing downward, over her chest and bodice, and was placed flat against her stomach, bringing her even closer to him.

Letting him know that he was not in control just yet, Nellie placed her left hand on top of the one that was on her stomach, warmly, delicately, the lightest of smiles playing on her lips.

The pale demon was not amused by her stability, her graceful scent dizzying him, and lifted her hand which held his silver accomplice, flicking it outward to open the blade. Now, as the sharp metal caught the light of the moon, he felt the devil baker tense again. His smirk deepened, enjoying how easy it was to frighten his captive. He bit the side of her ear, embracing her firmly now from behind.

"Now you are here with me," he reminded in his low husky voice, making her raise the blade higher as to see it glint in the subtle light, "No second thoughts..." Closer now he brought the blade, tilting it to the side, making it shine marvelously before placing it inches away from her neck, "...you've decided," he kissed the back of her neck, savoring her taste, and this time she _did _moan, "_Decided_."

The edge of the blade grazed her flesh and a piercing silence hung in the air, both of them very still, the woman instinctively wanting to pull the silver away from her neck, yet finding herself unable to as the demon kissed her neck. How haunting to be in a position as to where you're willingly aiming a weapon toward yourself, knowing that with just the flick of a wrist, it all could be over.

And yet, Nellie found herself edging Sweeney onward, until finally, gloriously, the searing blade cut into her flesh, so slowly, across her throat. Not deep enough to kill, no, but great enough to send a trail of rubies, entrancing, inviting rubies, trickling down her neck.

Quickly, so swiftly, the duo lost their grasp on the razor, and it fell onto the wooden floor with a significant, ringing clang. Seconds later, Nellie was whirled around and shoved into the red velvet of the barber's chair, making her exhale sharply, stinging and devoted.

The barber was on top of her, his graceful hands exploring her body, and she lifted her neck to him, wanting to please him despite herself. His lips quickly smothered the thin, bleeding cut with kisses, incited, a greedy flame having sparked within him. A hot tongue ran over the gash and she quivered, listening to his breathless whispers:

"Past the point of no return," he began, kissing her neck wildly, mouth bloody, "...no backward glances. Our games of make-believe are at an end." She nodded faithfully, knowing that she should fight back, knowing that she shouldn't let him control her, but the sight of his pale lips on her stained neck eliminated all pains and thoughts. Nellie grasped his shoulders, pulling him closer, her hands getting lost in his black locks.

Sweeney found it hard to concentrate on reality as he kissed her neck clean of rubies, all except for the actual gem that was heaving between her chest, mirthful words falling from his lips, muffled murmurs from beneath her skin. "Past the point of 'if' and 'when', no use resisting. Abandon thought and let the dream descend," his voice was hardly audible below the harsh intakes of breath from his devil baker, and he wondered if his words were directed towards her or himself, watching as new droplets of red slowly rose from the gash.

Deliciously satisfied, he plunged into murmuring kisses again. "What raging fire shall flood the soul? What rich desire unlocks it's door?" He rose his voice to a growl again, now, filled with a new energy. "What sweet seduction lies before us?"

Leaning off of her a little, he placed his hands on Nellie's sides to lift her more firmly against the red velvet, his breathing shaking with desire, the top of her white bodice stained with the trickling blood. The woman beneath him leaned forward, seeming to want to touch him further, to kiss his face in return, but he wouldn't have any of that yet. Instead, he grinned, teeth bloody, placing one hand behind her neck tenderly, the other smearing the precious crimson across her chest.

She grasped tightly at his hair, trembling with lust, curling a finger around his streak of white as she closed her eyes, indulging herself in his affection. He began to kiss up her neck, hot brushes of his needy lips, growling with a keen force. "Past the point of no return," he told her, pulling her close, "The final threshold, what warm, unspoken secrets will we learn?"

His voice cut abruptly, he refrained from kissing, and she opened her eyes. He placed his forehead gently against hers, their lips inches apart. She swallowed hard, trying to grasp at truth, at the actuality of his actions, and strained to hear his next few delicate whispers: "Beyond the point of no return..." And there he stopped, both of them shaking with emotion in the hazardous barber chair.

Sweeney Todd leaned closer, gaze intent on her full lips, the hand behind her neck becoming more firm. Her heart thundered beneath her corset, the tension of the barber driving her insane. His lips were only just beginning to graze hers when she turned her face to the left, his kiss landing on her cheek.

Nellie Lovett had finally remembered that this was their war of the passions, their flaming feud of desire. She was not going to surrender so quickly. The scent of blood in the air, a smirk grew onto the lips that the barber craved.

Brown eyes aflame with seduction, her hands left his hair and trailed down to his chest, his lips still pressed against her cheek, having frozen him with confusion. It was her turn now, and she gripped at his black waistcoat, her neck stinging, heart calming.

"You have brought me to that moment were words run dry," she whispered gently, pushing him lightly away from herself, his lips reluctantly leaving her cheek. The flushed woman turned her face to him now, piercing him with a deep stare, one hand leaving his waist coat to reach to his face. She placed a pale, small finger to his lips, and the barber's eyes flashed.

"To that moment where speech disappears into silence..." the woman cooed, pursing her lips, trying to regain her composure, leaning closer if possible, "..._Silence_." The devil baker then shot forward, pushing him off her, the man falling backwards onto the ground where he continued to stare at her in a stunned trance.

Slowly, Nellie stood, raising a teasing eyebrow, purring. "I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why..." She bent down to him, alluringly, taking a hold of his crimson neck tie. Smirking still, the woman pulled him upward by the tie, unhurried. "...In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent."

Trailing away, she pulled the man fully to his feet, a serious look in her eye now, gripping the lapels of his waistcoat. Almost chuckling, she continued, "Now I am here with you," she stepped forward, and he stumbled back, making their way to the opposite wall. "...No second thoughts..." With a thud, Sweeney's back hit the wall, bits of wallpaper and dust falling from it, twirling downward.

Her voice breathy with power, she inhaled his scent, "I've decided..." she pushed him more firmly against the wall, the barber's eyes closing, "..._decided_."

She began to toy with cold buttons of his vest, and he relaxed under her touch. "Past the point of no return, no going back now. Our passion play has now, at last, begun." Her voice was firm but soft despite her control. The waistcoat open now, she pulled it harshly from his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, almost grunting. Now in his pressed, white shirt, the man's eyes stayed closed.

Ravenous with excitement, longing to feel his skin, Nellie simply grasped the white cloth and pulled tightly, the shirt ripping down the middle. His hardened, muscled chest exposed to her now, she was filled with a crazed lust. Hungrily kissing his chest, she murmured to her beloved. "Past all thought of right or wrong," the shirt fell from his shoulders, as well, landing on top of his vest, "...one final question: How long should we two wait before we're one?"

Not being able to control himself, he lifted Nellie's face from his chest and tilted it upward, his lips crashing onto hers. She moaned deeply, adoringly, murmuring between their kisses. "When will the blood begin to race? The sleeping bud burst into bloom?" Her hands slid up to his shoulders before she wrapped her arms around his neck, embracing him, his arms enveloping around her back. "When will the flames, at last, _consume us_?"

Something was triggered in the both demons and they tumbled around the corner, dropping to the ground, stripping each other greedily of their clothing.

_Past the point of no return._

Hair askew, clothes in shreds, they embraced once more, gasping, kissing, feeling, seeing nothing but each other, fighting for their love.

_The final threshold._

They became one, engulfed in lust, and they moved together, drowning in pleasure. Then gloriously, dripping with sweat and passion, everything was white.

_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn._

Both breathing heavily, heaving, relishing, they clung to each other on the floor of the tonsorial parlor. The blood-lusting barber and devoted baker caught their breath, laying there in silence, staring at each other. After a few frightened, daunting moments, Sweeney pulled Nellie to him, and she broke into a soft smile, both of them falling into a luxuriant slumber.

_We've passed the point of no return..._


	5. Hush

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Setting: Late evening, almost night. In the parlor.

**Summary: I long over-due request for a sleepy!Sweeney. My apologies. I wrote this in about twenty minutes last night.**

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**Part V: Hush**

Bliss, thought Nellie, hands clasped tightly in her lap, fire flickering softly in her brown eyes. Such bliss.

Coyly, she slid her gaze to the right, without moving her head, catching the smallest of glimpses. The baker was giddy now, and she looked back to the gulping flames of her fireplace.

Bringing him downstairs wasn't easy, of course. Even after her countless pleads, it was only the promise of gin that had coaxed him into breaking his glare from the empty streets, the empty window.

"Gin, you say?" It was an attempt at speech for a man in such deep thought, so the grumbling words had flustered Nellie.

Tugging on his sleeve, gently first, then with a sudden urgency, "Yes, lots of gin, love," she had squealed in a high, breathy voice. Smirking, she looped her arm around his and began to steer him in the direction of the door. "Come, dearie," she whispered, and he nodded vaguely, face still turned in the direction of the streets.

Now, baker upright and perky, barber slumped and sipping gin from the bottle, the two were settled on the petty loveseat, and the crackling of the wood mingled in the air.

Too excited to relax, Nellie snuck another glance at her tenant; if possible, his hair was even more disheveled than usual, the back of his hair sticking up because he had slid downward into the couch. Deadly face impassive and weary, the murderer looked bored, bringing the bottle to his lips again. The man didn't wince nor flinch after taking a large gulp, having grown accustomed to the strength of alcohol with his experience at sea. Slowly, Mr. Todd licked his lips, entrancing Nellie, and as he brought the bottle down onto his knee again, those pale lips parted, "Your parents didn't raise you very well," he slurred.

Blinking rapidly, Nellie looked back to the fire, heat rising into her cheeks. An innocent smile on her lips, she turned to face him again. "Hmm?"

Shifting a little, Mr. Todd cleared his throat, "It's impolite to stare."

A nervous laugh, "I wasn't staring Mr. T." She had been.

He didn't answer. Frustrated, Nellie snatched the bottle from his hand and, on impulse, sucked down three quick mouthfulls. Shuddering, her shaking hand placed the bottle back into his hand, her smile struggling.

Sweeney snorted, but it sounded funny, almost like a stretch of breath, or a halfhearted chuckle. Then it dawned on her.

Excitement back, Nellie shifted in her seat, maybe a little too quickly, and placed both of her hands on his shoulder. Batting her eyelashes, she leaned toward his ear. "Yer tired, Mr. T."

He shook her off his shoulder and murmured something about her lack of sanity. The eyes that had been drooping were now wide, forced to be open and more alert under the gaze of the smitten woman.

She only scooted closer, placing her chin atop his shoulder. "We both know that ye would like nothin' more than ta fall into a deep, deep sleep," she cooed lowly, one side of her mouth tugging upward.

Blinking hard, Sweeney struggled, his intense stare dimming away. She flicked her gaze down to his lips again, now that she was close. How soft they would be against hers. Nellie shook this from her head, deciding that it wouldn't be smart considering their proximity. Reaching outward, she smoothed down his hair with gentle fingers, her breath laced heavily with his gin. "Love," she began, her voice soft like a hum, but she lost her words, her own eyes drooping.

The fire was dimming away, too, and the light in the parlor was only a slight yellow glow. Scooping her legs onto the couch, Nellie took a chance and leaned her head against his shoulder, snuggling her curls into his grey jacket.

Sweeney stiffened, having already felt awkward before, and there was a little frown in between his eyebrows. "Mrs. Lovett..."

"Mmm?"

"I'm not a mattress."

"Sorry? I can't make out ye words," she yawned on purpose, and it sounded real as she nestled closer. "Why don't cha rest yer eyes, eh?" Her voice was soft.

Nellie heard him sigh harshly, and she knew that he was struggling with his irritation, but the yawn that escaped his lips settled her worries. "Sleep is immaterial," he mumbled.

She giggled softly into his arm, quite cozy. "You're silly."

Without her knowing, Sweeney flicked his glare to her head, her reddish curls fuzzy in the dull light. Once she fell silent, breathing too deeply, he rolled his eyes. Clenching his teeth, he moved his arm out from under her and let her head fall gently onto his lap. He slumped further into the couch, black eyes catching the remaining sparks of the fireplace, before finishing his gin and placing it on the table in front of him.

Great. Now he couldn't move. The sounds of his slumbering landlady drew him deeper into the blackness of the parlor, and before he knew it, his eyes were closed, but only for a moment, of course.

The sun awoke them both the next morning.


	6. Remember

**Setting: Before the death of Turpin or Lucy, late at night, the ending of winter.**

**Summary: After a horrible Valentine's Day, Nellie cannot sleep, and neither can Sweeney.**

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It was half past twelve when Nellie turned slowly in her bed, shivering under her light quilt of maroon. A crisp breeze had drifted from the cracks of her window sill to chill the air and nip at her nose. Much to her displeasure, it was yet another night of bitter cold, and Nellie searched desperately for warmth underneath her petty blanket.

With sleepy deliberation she opened her eyes, heart heavy with disappointment. It was snowing again, large flakes of white twirling downward, forlorn and dismal in the darkness. In the silence, the baker was wide awake, and yet so fatigued, struggling with something beyond her control. Nellie had tried so hard to be forgiving and compassionate today, waiting and yearning for the attention she deserved. She had tried endlessly to open her arms to the barber's bitter disposition, offering him her heart with every glance, every touch, every spoken word. Why was it so impossible to break through such a vulnerable wall of regret and anger? Why wasn't she able to bring Sweeney back to life- to bring Benjamin back to life?

Turning over again, Nellie felt a sob build up in the back of her throat, her eyes stinging, lip quivering. She couldn't understand times were so difficult for her, when it was _she_ who was loyal and loving, _she_ who put everyone else before herself. Was it possible for anybody to love her in return?

She sniffed and buried her face into her pillow, thoughts returning to the unbearable cold of her bedroom. Despite every heated glare and unfeeling command, Nellie hoped that the barber on the floor below wasn't as cold as she.

It was getting far too late for such worries, she concluded, and another day of unrequited passion awaited her in the morning.

Reluctantly, Nellie yawned and felt herself drifting away, falling into a troubled slumber, when a strange noise broke the silence. She lifted her head, brown eyes watery, straining to hear. The noise became louder, and it took Nellie all of two seconds to recognize the helpless wails of Toby in the parlor down the hall. He usually slept on her small couch by the fire as the crackling of the logs put him to sleep.

Fearful, the baker pushed back the quilt and drew quickly from bed. The floor was like ice on her bare feet as she tottered across the room, fumbling for her robe. She slung it over her shoulders and left her chambers, padding quickly around the corner.

He was calling her name now, and Nellie squinted in the darkness. "Toby love, what is it?" she asked, voice laden with concern as she lit the candle she kept on top of her harmonium. The bracing chill of the air hit her skin and she slid her arms through the sleeves of her robe, tying it tightly around her waist. In the dimness of the candlelight, she approached the couch to find a quivering Toby, his face wet with tears.

"H-He was comin' a-after me, mum!" he sobbed, "He said 'e was gonna beat me till I couldn't move!" Completely shaken with fear, the boy sat up and grasped Nellie around the middle. Sitting next to him, Nellie shushed him gently and wiped his tears. Her heart broke every night he had the nightmares; apparently they were all horrid and they plagued the boy's mind with visions of hate and violence.

Wanting to protect him, Nellie held him close and kissed the top of his head. "It's all over now, dear, it's all over. I'm 'ere now, Nellie's 'ere now."

He trembled in her arms. "They u-used to threaten me a-all the time at the workhouse," he said, voice wobbly, "b-but they didn't mean it. This was d-different! They were r-really gonna do it this time, mum!" Tears flowed down his cheeks and Nellie shifted to cup his chin with her hand.

"Nothings ever going to 'urt you again, Toby," she whispered, wiping away his tears away with her thumb, "Nothing can touch ya when you're with me, you know that. You're safe here with me an' Mr. T."

Nodding, Toby closed his eyes and cried into her robe. "I-It was so real."

"Oh, my poor darlin'," Nellie sighed, her voice pained. "You stay right 'ere with me till ya feel better, hmm?"

Toby hiccuped a cry and tried to calm down, scooting over so he could lay his head on her lap. With a sad smile, Nellie retrieved his blanket from the floor and tucked it around him. Sinking back into the couch, she sighed as she combed her fingers through his unruly hair. Very slowly, the boy ceased his trembling and he began to breathe deeply. Relieved, she let her gaze settle upon the burning embers that remained in the fireplace across from her, unaware of whose eyes were fixed upon her from the shadows.

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Sweeney was a cold-hearted, angry man. Horrible and ghastly things no longer phased him, not a flinch to cross his face, not a gasp from his lips. He had accepted his fate, his anger. He had centered his focus quite perfectly upon his raging vengeance, proudly, his thoughts containing only those of frightened eyes and choking screams. He held this very closely to himself, this acclaimed personality, and he drowned himself in it. Yes, he was indeed a cold-hearted, furious man.

And as he watched Mrs. Lovett from the hallway, her brown eyes full of sadness and pain, her small, delicate fingers as they combed softly around Toby's curls, Sweeney struggled with his mindset of hatred.

Sleep did not come easily for the demon, rightfully so, and he had become used to taking nightly strolls to pass the hours of silence. Sweeney was on his way downstairs when he heard Mrs. Lovett with Toby, her voice soft and caring. Her voice, right then, had reminded him so much of his Lucy when Johanna couldn't sleep. This memory struck Sweeney so deeply and he was unable to move. All he could do was stare wordlessly as the woman tended to the child, patiently and compassionate, so warm.

All at once, the woman was no longer sitting with the boy, but moving towards him, still unaware of his presence, but Sweeney was in a trance. He had longed for the familiar compassion once held by his wife, and he didn't care about anything else. His mind was racing in circles, now seeing through the fog all of the same love and forgiveness this dark-eyed woman had offered him all day, all year. The barber couldn't move, overwhelmed.

Nellie struggled to keep her eyes open as she approached the hallway, looking forward to her bed, despite the harsh cold. She had only taken a step into the darkness of the hallway when she was pulled close and embraced, lips pressed gently to hers. Half-asleep, Nellie tried to understand her surroundings but instead melted in the cold but loving embrace.

When the man pulled back, Nellie gasped, breathless, only to feel hot breath on her ear, following the raspy whisper,

"Happy Valentine's Day."

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**Well, I haven't written anything in a long time, so hopefully this doesn't reek of ugliness. I will do a proper look-over for anything worded strangely; I just wrote this with me running on two hours of sleep. My apologies. Please review?**


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